Stories of Dorn, The Ugly Child
by MalTheAwesome
Summary: A Paladin is the paragon of his virtues, the very image of good. Dorn, a young impoverished and ugly child with a sickly mother has been hearing stories of these warriors for his whole life, and when he meets one in an alley way, life changes forever.


A decently dressed man wearing a blue vest over a long sleeve shirt stepped through the alley in which Dorn awaited. The man had short brown hair and equally brown eyes, and sported a large moustache and soul patch goatee. The man was very muscular, Dorn winced upon noting, and walked with a great confidence about him. Dorn considered not following through with his assault, but decided it was better to have a few bruises and hopefully snatch some iron pieces from the man than to give up and return with guilt on his consience from lack of trying. Dorn lifted the stick he'd sharpened just for this purpose, and approached the man from the shadows. He pointed the spear at him threateningly.

Dorn stared the the man, puffing out his chest and trying to be as threatening as he could. The man stared blankly at young Dorn, sizing him up. Dorn felt those brown eyes scrutinizing him, noting his grey skin, pointed ears, pronounced canine teeth. Those brown eyes stared into his own, and he had to resist the urge to jerk away. Dorn realized the man had a long sword on him, a weapon that could have easily torn through Dorn's make shift stick. Dorn realized that he might die, he was just some poor, ugly street urchin and the other man knew it as well as he did. Any moment, he expected the man's hand to go to his blade. Dorn wouldn't run, in fact for some reason his fear was vastly out matched by the excitement in his mind, excitement at the idea of a fight. A battle that, to him, would match those of the great Paladins he'd only heard stories of.

Except, the man's hand never reached for the blade, instead into the sack he carried in his left arm, pulling out a small loaf of bread.

"This is an odd way of asking if you'd like to share a man's food, I'll certainly never get used to this city," the man joked, offering the bread to Dorn.

Dorn was stunned. He nearly dropped the spear in surprise. The man simply stood there, smiling at him, still offering the bread. Dorn looked at the bread, then at the man. He tried to give that man a piercing stare to equal his own, tried to show confidence and power, trying to cause the man to turn away in fear. The man merely smiled.

"If you aren't hungry...?" the man was interrupted as Dorn snatched the bread and chomped into it, revealing teeth far sharper than one would expect.

"Well, I guess you are then," the man chuckled, "My name is Dragor Halestorm, by the way."

Dorn stared at him, having finished the bread. The silence continued for a bit, growing increasingly awkward for Dorn while seemingly not affecting the man, Dragor. Dorn frowned, he'd intended to save some of that bread for someone else, but he'd just been so hungry. Guilt gnawed at his insides just as the hunger had earlier, still did in fact. Dorn looked at the man again, realizing he'd dropped his stick. He considered diving for it, but the man didn't seem dangerous...

"I'm Dorn," Dorn stated simply, looking at the bag that Dragor carried hungrily.

"Dorn? Odd name, that," Dragor replied, still wearing that unending smile.

The man waited, as if expecting Dorn to explain it. Dorn didn't. The man shrugged before seeing Dorn's eyes drift toward the sack.

"I have more food, if you're hungry," the man offered.

"Yes please, I mean, no, I...well, it's not for me..." Dorn avoided the man's gaze.

"Indeed? Who is it for then?" Dragor asked, an eyebrow raised.

"...my mother...she's...she's not so well. Aunt Eva told me it started when I was born, because of my father," Dorn admitted. He didn't like telling Dragor all this about himself, but there was something about the man that made him feel safe.

"Indeed," it was more of a statement than a question. The man looked upon Dorn's face, scrutinizing.

He seemed happy with what he saw. He stroked his chin thoughtfully, drawing his sword. Dorn quickly grabbed his makeshift spear, pointing it at Dragor. Adrenaline pumped through him, as he stared at Dragor. Dragor held his blade in a combat stance, his eyes narrowed as he glared at Dorn. He seemed ready to attack at any moment. Dorn didn't give him the chance and charged with a roar.

Like a Paladin charging into combat, for honor, glory and justice.

The next thing he knew his spear was out of his hand. Dorn swung his fist, managing to knock his adversary backward. Dragor was surprised, but didn't fall. He simply looked upon Dorn, sheathing his sword.

"Well done."

Dorn was surprised, "...What?"

"Well done. You have a talent for fighting, I see. That punch actually hurt," Dragor admitted, "Here. Take this to your mother."

The man gave Dorn the sack of food. Dorn stared at it, amazed.

"I...how can I ever repay you?" Dorn asked.

"No need to repay me. I am a servant of Bahumet, and I do what I can to help those I meet," Dragor commented, before turning away.

Dorn stared after him in awe. The man was a servant of Bahumet, a warrior, generous and kind even to those as wretched as Dorn. Dorn felt shivers travel along his skin as the realization fully sunk in.

"A Paladin," Dorn breathed.

Dorn looked down at the sack of food. He would take this to his mother, and then...

"What will I do?" Dorn frowned.

He shook his head, "For now, I have something to do. Mom'll be hungry too..."

Dorn ran off toward his home.

Dragor was practicing his swordwork with one of his friends, a far more serious man than himself named Johan. Johan was admittedly a little better at fighting than Dragor, and much better at taking a hit if yesterday was anything to go by. That child had taken Dragor by surprise, however that was no excuse for a skilled Paladin. He subconsciously rubbed his stomach with his free hand, swinging his wooden sword at Johan. Johan deflected it expertly and kicked him solidly in the stomach, thinking it a weakspot. Dragor took the blow, swinging his wooden blade at Johan and hit him in the neck.

"I win," Dragor taunted jokingly.

"Bah, damn you Dragor," Johan frowned, turning away, "I'm going to go into town."

"I'll talk to you later then," Dragor responded, smiling.

Dragor remember that child he'd met two weeks ago, the gray one. He sat down, thinking about him, wondering where he was as Dragor often did with the people he assisted. He and Johan were the only people at the chapel of Bahumet that did any work with weaponry, luckily, and so this bothered no one else. As a result, he was surprised when one of the priests stepped in, looking at Dragor.

"There's someone here, asking for you," the priest told him.

"Thank you, Fredrick. Did they say who they were?" he asked.

"Dorn or something. Ugly little fellow," he frowned, "But I shouldn't make jokes at the expense of those in mourning."

"I...what?" Dragor asked.

"Should I let him in?"

"Yes, please. Thank you Fred," Dragor watched the priest step out of the room.

Dragor waited. Mourning? Dorn did mention a sickly mother...

"Oh that poor child..."

"What was that?" Dorn had managed to step in the room quietly enough that Dragor didn't notice. Dragor was ripped out of his thoughts, and into reality.

"Oh, nothing. How are you, Dorn?" Dragor asked, forcing a smile for Dorn's sake.

"I'm...fine. Well, no, I'm not fine," Dorn seemed to be holding back tears.

"I heard from one of the priests that your mother...passed on," Dragor said, biting his lip.

"...Why her...?" Dorn shook his head, tears flowing down his gray tinted cheeks.

"She walks with Bahumet now, as all good men and women do. Of course, my job isn't to preach religion to you, Dorn. Well, technically it is, but, oh, whatever," Dragor shook his head, "Your mother's soul rests in peace, Dorn, rejoice in that. She watches you from above now."

"...It's not fair!" Dorn swung his fist and slammed the ground.

Dragor was taken aback at this, "Calm down, Dorn."

"WHY SHOULD I!" Dorn roared, exposing his abnormally sharp teeth, "ALL MY LIFE I'VE BEEN BEATEN ON, BULLIED! THINGS FINALLY LOOK UP FOR A WEEK AND THEN I LOSE ALL THAT I HAVE!"

Dorn gave a painful cry before slamming his fist into the floor, shaking the room.

Dragor looked at Dorn, frowning.

"...I'm sorry..." Dorn sighed, before his muscles slackened and he fell to the floor, as if he had no more will to go on.

"Dorn, you're hurt, it is okay to be sad," Dragor told him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"...I don't want to be weak."

"You're not weak, Dorn," Dragor asserted.

"...I want to be strong..." Dorn muttered.

"...What are you getting at?" Dragor asked, confused.

"I want to be able to change things. I want to be useful, I don't want to be a burden anymore. I want to have the strength to make a difference," Dorn's hands closed into fists.

"...You don't mean...?" Dragor looked at Dorn with new respect.

"I want to be a Paladin," Dorn concluded.

"...It will be hard."

"My life already is."

"You will face horrors that will test your sanity."

"I see those on the street every day. There is a strong slave trade in the slums."

"You will have to be prepared to die."

"If that death will make a difference," Dorn said with increasing resolve, "I will gladly die."

"You will need to study, as well," Dragor responded, testing Dorn's reaction.

"I was hoping for that, actually. The blade may pierce the mail, but the pen can pierce the soul, and change the destiny of a nation," Dorn said with surprising wisdom.

"That's very wise," Dragor remarked.

"My mother told me that once. And it's true. I see plenty of blokes running around swinging their swords thinking themselves the mightiest fellow ever. Yet they all take their orders from the man with the pen. The Penman can defeat an entire army of swordsman, without ever even seeing them or knowing who the hell they are. He may even destroy them by accident, all with the power of his pen," Dorn commented.

"...I have on question, Dorn," Dragor stood up.

"What?"

"What weapon do you want?"

Dorn considered, "A spear."

"Well, Apprentice Dorn, here you go," Dragor tossed a small iron wrought spear to Dorn, "Now, let us begin on this difficult path."

"I am ready, Dra-...Master Dragor," Dorn assumed a combat stance, and so the lessons began.

The lessons were hard. Dragor may not have been a serious person, but he was a very serious master. Dorn would end his physical training covered in cuts and bruises. He made time to visit friends, but as his training schedule got more and more rigorous it became more of a matter of them coming to see him during his training. Dorn found new inspiration in faith for Bahumet. For once he felt as if there was some guiding light to his life, as if he had some higher purpose. He thought he'd lost all point to his life when his mother finally succumbed to her illness, but he felt now as if she simply watched over him from above. Dorn labored ten years, studying his history and exploring his religion, as well as exercising and strengthening his body, before he finally got accepted on his first official mission.

"So, how do I look guys?" Dorn grinned proudly, wearing his scale mail armor. He wore a heavy iron bucker on his arm easily, and held his spear, placing the butt of it on the ground. His friends, a young half elf boy named Danny and two human girls known as Sally and Gina, looked at him with admiration.

"Ugly as ever," Danny joked, grinning under his mop of dirty blonde hair.

"You're one to talk," Dorn replied good naturedly, "At least I have the muscles to attract the ladies." Dorn winked at the dark-haired Gina.

"Yes, the bulging gray muscles. I'm so turned on," her voice dripped with sarcasm.

"See, she admitted it!" Sally laughed.

"Shut up blondie," Gina punched her in the arm gently.

"Now now, ladies, no need to fight over me," Dorn grinned, "There's enough of me to go around."

"I'll say, your fat arse can't hardly go through the doorway out of here," Danny laughed.

"Hey, I'm a growing man, I need my food!"

"With how much you eat, you must be three growing men at least," Sally joked.

"Only in your dreams," Dorn winked at Sally.

"Alright, alright, let's be serious," Danny smiled, "Dorn, we're really proud of you. Good luck with the criminals."

"I'll be with Master Dragor, so I'll be fine," Dorn smiled, "I can only do my best."

"You're the strongest guy I know," Gina hugged Dorn affectionately, "You'll be just fine."

"Do you think you might find your father on that journey? I mean, you are gonna go a good distance to that town, over a hundred miles," Sally asked, an eyebrow raised.

Dorn's mood darkened, "I honestly don't care if I find him or not."

"Don't say that man, I mean, he's your dad," Danny frowned, "It'd at least give you some closure."

"Easy for you to say. Your father was an elf who died a hero defending your mum. My father was some raider with damned messed up genes who forced himself upon some poor girl and made me," Dorn shook his head, and Gina released him.

"I say you don't need a dad. I never met my dad, and I grew up just fine," Gina said with rancor.

"My daddy was great though, even though mommy died during child birth he kept on working and helping me. I wouldn't be here without him," Sally responded.

"Look, can we please stop talking of fathers?" Dorn said angrily. His friends glanced at one another, they knew of Dorn's rage and didn't want to incite it, they loved and respected him but there were times when they felt they might fear him as well.

Dorn paused, shaking his head, "Sorry guys, it's just... not a subject I like."

"No worries, man," Danny patted him on the back.

"Dorn, you coming," Dragor stepped into the room, smiling.

"Of course, Master Dragor!" Dorn grinned, "Later guys, wish me luck."

Dragor breathed deeply as they approached the man in the dark robe. Dorn behind him wore the most intimidating scowl he could, and managed to look exactly like what he really was, an excited trainee on his first mission. Dragor gave him a serious look, and Dorn's expression grew somber, he was trying to mask his sheer excitement at finally being able to do something. Dragor signaled for him to wait while he went ahead. The man wearing a black robe emblazoned with the symbol of an owl's head looked up from tending his garden to see the heavily armored Dragor approaching. Seeing the Platinum Dragon symbol on the tabard draped on Dragor's chest, he raised an eyebrow, his muscles tensing.

"Greetings, I am Dragor, Paladin of Bahumet," Dragor raised a hand, smiling calmly.

The man relaxed a bit at Dragor's calm and gentle demeanor, "Hello, Sir Dragor. If I may ask, why...why are you here?"

"I'm investigating a rash of child disappearances in the area. My superiors, and I've heard the townspeople agree, that a small religious group known as the Coming of Wisdom are behind it," Dragor looked at him sternly.

The man looked at him, wide-eyed, "I swear sir, we are not responsible. We are good people, we help to educate the townspeople, even if we don't exactly agree with the priests on everything they say."

"Indeed? Where do these disagreements lie?" Dragor asked, frowning.

"Well, no offense to your faith but the priests of Bahumet around here completely oppose our research into...well, some less than holy arts," the cultist frowned.

"Necromancy?" Dragor hinted, looking into his eyes.

"No sir!" the cultist replied, "You see, some of our numbers are warlocks, but we keep a close eye on them to make sure they don't do anything foolish! I've noticed the child disappearances, my school room is shrinking and I worry for them."

The dark robed man shook his head, earnestly worried about his pupils, "Although our greatest clerics are powerful mages, many of us are mere teachers of the less arcane arts. I am amongst that number, and I am proud of my job. Sir, I have nothing to hide."

Dragor looked at him, staring past his eyes and seeming to see into his very soul. The cultist shivered under that gaze, but Dragor smiled, seeming satisfied.

"I believe you. I do not see evil within you, I see a good man who has suffered under those who don't understand," Dragor shook his head, "I see a good man. Any leads you might have would be very useful, however."

The man hesitated, "One of my fellows, a half orc warlock known as Grell, has been secretive lately. I have been trying to find him, but he disappeared as well. We wanted to find him on our own, but I will gladly work alongside honorable Paladins. Say, who's that back there?"

Dragor glanced back to see Dorn swing his spear around at imaginary foes, grinning. Dorn then proceeded to attempt to balance his spear on his nose, causing it to fall, the shaft smacking him full in the face.

"Sadly, that's my pupil," Dragor sighed.

"Ah. Don't worry, I'm sure he's quite intelligent," the cultist offered, "I'm Belenor, by the way."

"Well, he does well in studies but he seems to have no common sense," Dragor frowned.

"Ah well, for now, we have business. It may sound odd, but I think I have a hunch as to where Grell is," Belenor shifted uncomfortably.

"Where?"

"Well, we recently found a crypt, full of undead monsters," Belenor frowned, "Grell would be powerful enough to take control of it, it'd take a few very talented warriors to break in."

Dragor stroaked his chin thoughtfully.

Dorn was rubbing a newly formed bruise on his nose when Dragor approached, the cultist in tow.

"Master Dragor, how'd it go?" Dorn asked, smiling.

"Well. We're off to the tavern," Dragor stepped onward.

"Really?" Dorn grinned, looking at Dragor in surprise.

"No drinks. We need our wits about us. We're looking for help," Dragor said sternly.

"And he's coming with?" Dorn pointed at Belenor.

"I know a few friends who might be able to assist in our search," Belenor offered, smiling.

"Oh," Dorn stated simply, looking at Belenor.

"Anyways, we must go. By the way, Dorn, you can't balance a spear on your nose very well, and for future reference, don't try it again," Dragor grinned.

Dorn's gray skinned face turned red, "Ah...of course Master."

Drizz't smiled as he took another swig of his ale. The ale was much like the tavern that served it, it looked like piss and left a bad taste in your mouth, but it did its job. The ale would get you drunk, and plenty of people frequented the bar for that very reason. The tavern itself, the Pig's Leg, also served as a good way to get information. Indeed, the drow had all the information he needed, he knew which women were the easiest and, through the old reliable ale glasses, all of them were beautiful. Through these ale glasses, he looked up to see a familiar sight.

"URP, hey Bell-ee-nor, how ya doing?" Drizz't greeted, smiling drunkenly.

"Hello, Drizz't. Ah, have you heard of any warrior entering town, I have need of a group of skilled fighters to assist me in invading the Crypt of Malice," Belenor said in a low voice, "I need this on the down low, as well. I think that...Grell might be responsible for some recent happenings."

"Oh, sure! I hearda two pals of Dinn or something entering town just two days ago! One o' them was an ugly gray boy and the other was some ugly ole fart," Drizz't giggled in delight at his cleverness, "BARTENDER, HIT ME AGAIN!"

"Stop yelling or I'll 'hit' you until your unconscious!" the barkeep responded.

"That was my plan!" Drizz't yelled back, laughing.

Dorn looked at Drizz't an eyebrow raised, "This is the reliable hunter you knew about, Belenor?"

"He's more reliable when he isn't...drunk off his ass," Belenor shook his head.

"How often is he drunk?" Dragor asked, concerned.

"Often. He'll be sober tomorrow, I hope," Belenor frowned.

"I'm building an immunity to, ah, alcohol poisoning, yeah that's it," Drizz't seemed pleased with his excuse.

"Oh Bahumet's damnations," Dragor's hand glowed with holy energy as he placed it on Drizz't's head.

"What'cha doin'-OW!" Drizz't squeaked in pain as a strange mist flowed from him, "What was that for?"

"Are you still drunk?" Dragor asked, smiling.

"...I'm just gonna buy another ale, you know that, right?"

"No, you're going to help us invade that crypt. You tell everyone how mighty a hunter you are, yet you never deliver, you speak of going on adventures, but you're always in this tavern," Belenor looked at Drizz't angrily, "There are lives on the line. We need your help."

Drizz't looked surprised, and he bit his lip guiltily, "...You're right... is there treasure in the crypt?"

Dorn grinned, "The undead guard it, so probably. They don't just guard nothing at all, from what I know."

Drizz't looked thoughtful, "I do suppose I've grown complacent... I'll help. But I get a cut of the treasure."

"Deal," Dragor shook Drizz't's hand.

The crypt was exactly as Dorn had imagined. He stepped down the hallway, spear ready, looking upon the black and green walls with interest. There were vague markings on the wall, marking the tombs of those who's bodies were unlucky enough to be buried in this unhallowed ground. Some of the corpses remained as partially destroyed skeletons, but most had literally gotten up and walked away. Dorn was excited, he couldn't wait for a fight. When two patrolling zombies came around the next corner, Dorn charged forward with a valorous yell.

"In Bahumet's name!" Dorn pulled back his spear to strike, but saw an arrow penetrate the zombie, then another beheaded its ally.

Both of the undead fell to the ground, more dead than before. Dorn was disappointed for a moment, and almost yelled at Drizz't until his voice of reason kicked in.

He was merely slaying the undead, who cares who kills them? Lives are on the line, Dorn thought, frowning.

"Well done, Drizz't," Dorn smiled at him.

The group went through multiple more rooms, eventually reaching Grell's chamber.

The Warlock stood over one of the missing children, dagger raised and ready to kill.

"So, Belenor my friend, you couldn't leave well enough alone?" Grell said, spotting Belenor in the near darkness.

Drizz't and Dorn looked ahead, pointing their weapons at Grell, while Dragor and Belenor searched for a torch. Grell chuckled, dark energy forming around his fist into a deadly blade. Dorn charged, his shield assisting him in deflecting the magic blade while Drizz't launched a deadly arrow into Grell's chest. Grell merely laughed, "You'll never kill me, through these rituals, I have gained strength! Apprentice, come, bring me my staff!"

Within the shadows a robed figure moved, but hesitated. Before anyone saw him he ducked into the shadows, although the sound of deadly steel being pulled from a leather scabbard resounded through the room. Dorn bashed Grell's face with the shield, sensing something oddly familiar about the man. His features, they were...

"You look like me," Dorn muttered, facing the warlock.

"Hmmm? Ah, now I recognize you, my brother's son," he grinned, "You could fight beside me, against the humans that hate and revile you, satisfy your bloodlust?"

Dorn was horrified to realize the offer was somewhat tempting.

"No, I'll never join you!" Dorn yelled, thrusting his spear forward into the man's shoulder.

"ACK! Very well, who says blood is thicker than water?" Grell launched him back with a burst of dark energy.

Now, to finish yo-AH!" a blade sank through the back of his neck, protruding from the other side.

"Leave, now. And take the children," a voice in the shadows, the voice of a young man, commanded before sinking away into the shadows once more.

Dorn sighed in relief, but then thoughts came unbidden into his brain.

I'm not human, I'm a tainted half orc. My rage, my size, my strength, this explains it all. Oh Bahumet help me, I almost accepted his offer. Do I truly have such great evils within me?

Dorn shook his head, If I do, I must fight against them.

"You alright, Dorn?" Dragor asked, a hand on his shoulder.

No I'm not.

"Yes I am, just a few scratches," Dorn grinned.

"Well, let's get out of here and get the survivors home."

Saberlet wiped the blood off of his blade, scowling. He should never have gone under Grell's tutelage, the man was a fool. He knew he was powerful, and rather than using the power wisely he chose an obvious hiding place and slew a few children. Grell claimed that their blood would grant him power, but Saberlet had access to the insane dark wizard's journal, he knew that Grell did it merely for kicks. Saberlet shuddered, at least in the case of power there was some justification. Grell wasn't just evil, he was sick, he was stupid, he was...

Dead.

Saberlet grinned at this, he'd managed to kill Grell, albeit it was through trickery stealth and deceit, but he slew him. And he'd done so in such a way not to let that group of warriors see his face. There was just one problem...

"Where am I going to find a new tutor?" Saberlet frowned, Grell was a sick, stupid fool, but he tought Saberlet the basics.

He considered this fact while he snuck out the back entrance to the crypt, formed and hidden once again by Grell. Saberlet thought hard on the matter as he walked on, and grinned. Perhaps he was thinking to small, maybe he should go for a larger group... Perhaps he could trick some religious nuts into teaching him.

Dorn sat in his room, studying history at his desk. Although it was a subject that in the past he showed great interest in, now his attention waned as his mind wandered toward his heritage.

I'm the spawn of monsters, Dorn shook his head, The product of rape, I was created in hate and lust for power.

Dorn put his hands on his head, "Oh almighty Bahumet, guide me."

Just then he heard a knocking on the door.

Dorn went to open the door of his tiny room, "Master Dragor, I don't want to talk about i-"

Dorn saw Gina, wearing dark clothing, step through the door. Her previously long hair had been cut short, and there were various bruises and scratches on her face. She wasn't heavily wounded, but she had been in a fight.

"Talk about what?" Gina asked, grinning.

"I-ah, nothing. Gina, where did you get those wounds?" Dorn looked at her, worried.

"Well, that's what I'm here to tell you about, Dorn," Gina grinned proudly, "I struck against the slavers."

"Gina!" Dorn remarked, "They're merciless, they'll kill you! If you knew about one of their locations, you should have contacted the church, they'd ha-"

"I did, they took me on the mission with them."

Dorn looked at her, taken aback, "What!"

"Well, Dorn, you may not know it, but I've been exercising lately, and you know I'm good with a dagger..."

"And the slavers have people who are masters with a spear or blade!"

"Look gray boy," Gina looked at him in anger, "I'll admit I'm not exactly army material, but I contributed, I did well! I snuck past a group of slavers and planted one of the bombs that took down the building, I did damn good!"

"I...I'm sorry Gina, you're right, I shouldn't have doubted you," Dorn shook his head, and sighed.

"Well, I'm sorry I yelled at you, didn't mean to hurt your feelings this much," Gina bit her lip.

"No, it's not that, it's..." Dorn frowned, "I learned a bit about my heritage."

"What do you mean?" Gina asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Gina, the warlock we slew was a half-orc named Grell. He was probably concieved during a raid on a human village and he decided to eventually join back up with his orcish family, including his..." Dorn bit his lip, "His full-blood orc brother."

Dorn hesitated a moment, "Grell was my uncle. My father was an orc. I'm a half-orc, the child of monsters, and I don't know what to do!"

Dorn held his face in his hands, before whispering, "Bahumet himself, I don't know what to do."

Gina looked at him for a moment, thinking hard. She put a hand on his shoulder, looking at him sternly.

"Dorn, this changes nothing. You're a good man, you have strong morals, you are smart, you're faithful..." Gina spoke, and Dorn turned to face her, "Dorn, you're my best friend. You are strong, and not just physically. Don't let this new fact destroy you, use it to your advantage."

"Use it to my advantage?" Dorn asked, confused.

"Well, nothing scarier than a big, brutish half-orc pointing a spear at your face, eh?" Gina winked, "And it certainly explains how strong you are. Plus you're pretty fast."

Dorn's eyes widened, he hadn't thought about it that way, "You're...you're right."

"Damn right I am," Gina grinned, "Anyways, I have things to do. Later, Dorn."

Dorn watched her go, smiling, "Later Gina..."

Dorn heard a few muttered voices outside his room, one feminine and one masculine. He heard the rattle of Dragor's light scale armor as he stepped into the room, and the sound of Gina stepping away. Dragor's face was grave, and his voice serious as he spoke. His brow was creased in worry, and he gritted his teeth.

"Dorn, I've known you since you were young, and I want you to know something before I...before I leave," Dragor spoke forlornly, sadness in his tone.

Dorn was surprised, "What is it, Master Dragor?"

"I'm leaving to battle against a cult, dedicated to a god of darkness and evil," Dragor frowned.

"This is short notice, I'll pack my bags now-" Dorn began, excited.

"I'm going alone, Dorn. And Dorn, make no mistake, I may not return," Dragor sighed, "I do not fear death, but I worry about those I leave behind. Especially...my apprentice."

"Master Dragor..." Dorn was beyond words, "No, you can't go! I need you, Master!"

"Dorn, you've grown since I met you, you're strong enough to survive on your own. You battled well against a powerful warlock before I could even light a torch," there was a hint of pride in Dragor's voice, "Tell no one of my mission. I must leave now, Dorn. I-I've come to think of you as a son, Dorn. I love you, and I hope we meet again one day. Continue your training, soon, you'll be a full-fledged paladin, and I believe you may become one of the best..."

Before Dorn could say a word, Dragor walked away, going through the curtain that served as Dorn's door. Dorn sat there, immobilized with despair. How would he survive without Dragor?

Dorn, you are strong. Gina's voice came unbidden to his mind.

Dorn rose to his feet, courage in his heart. He'd make Dragor proud.

"He can''t control his anger," a small human-like figure spoke, the syllables echoing through the room as if spoken by a thousand voices.

"He will learn to," another, much larger and rather dragon-like figure spoke, his voice similar to the other's, yet deeper, purer.

"Like all of his people, he can learn to channel that rage, use it as a tool," a muscular, burly figure spoke.

"Only if he chills that fury, however. If his anger is cold, he can use it. If his anger burns like Bahumet's flames, it will use him," the smaller figure said with great wisdom.

"You're right," the dragon responded, stroking its chin, "He has potential, oh by Me he does, but if he can't control that fiery rage..."

"As you said, he'll learn to," the burly figure spoke.

"I hope so. He may very well be our greatest weapon here, a spear that we can drive into that damn cult."

"We can only hope. He will be one of many weapons that we use," the dragonlike figure shrugged, "Time will tell whether he masters his rage or not. Time will tell whether he becomes my greatest servant, or if he'll fail in his actions. Only time can tell."

The Dornhad been training hard on his own the last two years. He honed his skill with his long spear, charging into combat and using his natural skill to avoid attacks. Dorn participated in many attacks on local slavers, fighting alongside Gina and other agents of Bahumet to root out and eradicate the trade whenever they could. Dorn kept in contact with Drizz't, envying the man's journeying.

'Ah...Gina," Dorn smiled to himself.

The two had developed a romance over the years, and mere weeks ago they had consumated that love. They were passionate in their affections, loving toward one another. That wasn't to say they didn't have their issues. Dorn's anger caused many issues, as did his complete disregard for his own safety. Dorn remembered a recent raid on the slavers, grinning to himself. He'd charged into a large group of slavers, swinging his weapons ferociously. He had managed to strike one down immediately, but soon he was fighting for his life. Indeed, he'd been lucky to survive that. Gina's fury at such was more fearsome than the battle to Dorn, however.

"Odd, I never fear during combat, and I share my feelings with my friends without apprehensions or discomfort, yet..." Dorn chuckled, "Now I face the greatest fear I've ever known, well, second greatest."

Dorn laughed nervously, checking to see if his ceremonial robes were neat and clean, making sure he was completely clean. He exited his small dorm room, smiling with nostalgia.

"You've served me well, room. I'll miss you," Dorn smiled.

"Having fun, buddy?" Dorn turned, seeing Danny approaching, "You nervous?"

"Oh Bahumet yes," Dorn laughed.

"Hey, don't worry man," Danny patted him on the shoulder, "I'm sure your journey will be fun, after all."

"Well, there is that," Dorn brightened somewhat, "Although I'll miss you guys."

"Hey, we'll be just fine, waiting till our big ugly buddy comes back and tells us thrilling stories of his journies," Danny grinned, "And we openly mock every bit."

"Thanks Danny," Dorn shook his head, before laughing.

Soon Dorn reached the main church area. He stood near the entrance, looking at the Altar from afar. An old priest stood behind it, smiling at Dorn.

"Dorn, you may approach."

Dorn stepped forward, his heart pounding. The priest held an ancient text in his hand, and recited obscure words in some odd old tongue.

Celestial, Dorn realized, proud of himself for recognizing the difficult tongue.

Dorn finally reached the altar, and the priest splashed droplets of water upon the paladin.

"Dorn, you have taken the first steps toward becoming a paladin of Bahumet, a holy knight and defender of justice and good. Do you feel that you are worthy of these responsibilities?"

"I do not, yet nothing would please me more than to accept them. If Bahumet allows it, I will," Dorn said earnestly, bowing in humility.

The answer surprised the priest, and pleased him. He regarded Dorn with interest, before smiling.

"Dorn, do you swear to uphold your virtues, to be a kind and loving being, a stalwart and powerful force for good?"

"I do."

"Dorn, are you willing to put your skills to the test, and go up north to the town of Grendale and investigate what's happened. We've lost contact with the town, and you must be careful not to engage any foes you truly can't face. You may take two allies with you," the priest smiled, "And, indeed, they seem to be here now."

Dorn turned and grinned as he saw two figures approaching. One was a man he'd come to admire, a dark skinned elf carrying a deadly longbow. He grinned with confidence, and walked with a calm grace. His white hair was somewhat long, falling a little above his shoulders. His red eyes gleamed with excitement, and so Drizz't walked into the chappel.

Behind him was a woman with dark, somewhat curly hair and dark brown eyes. Two shortswords hung at her belt, and a series of throwing knives were kept all around her body, from spots sheathed on her stomach, to her back, to her ankles and thighs all carrying the deadly projectile blades. She seemed less confident, but far more excited. Dorn admired her beauty, and smiled at the beautiful Gina.

"You ready, Dorn?" Drizz't asked, seeming ill-at ease in the holy place.

"I must put on my armor and collect my weaponry, soon I'll meet you at the gate," Dorn nodded.

"We'll see you there, Dorn," Gina commented, and the two walked away.

Dorn nodded to the priest in respect, before stepping over to the sparring room to collect his things.

After three days of travelling, the trio came across a tavern near the town they sought.

"Perhaps this would be a good place to gather information?" Drizz't suggested, his eyes telling stories of ale and whores instead of business.

"Aye, I can tell what information you'll be gathering," Gina teased.

"Hey, I'm a man-"

"Barely," Dorn interrupted, grinning.

"I'm a man, I have needs," Drizz't finished, glaring at Dorn.

"I'm just messing with you, Drizz't. You do have a point, in that Gina and I can gather information while you do the obvious," Dorn smiled in approval.

"You're damn right I have a point. Now, I'm gonna be a good gentleman and get laid in there," Drizz't stepped into the tavern, followed by Dorn and Gina.

Dorn and Gina seperated, while Drizz't walked right up to the bar demanding ale. Dorn saw an old dwarven man with a lute playing songs and telling stories for those arouind him. Dorn figured he might know something of the town, and approached pulling out a few coins. He politely waited until the bard finished his tale, a tale of the cunning paladin Dragor that brought a smile to Dorn's lips.

"Hail, Bard," Dorn put the coins on the table, "thank you for speaking of my former master's tales. I was Dragor's apprentice."

The bard raised an eyebrow in doubt, but Dorn continued on, "I come to investigate rumors of the nearby town having issues of some sort. Might you know what befell the town?"

The bard smiled, taking Dorn's coins, "Well, I was there to witness it. A dark influence spread over the town, I barely escaped it myself," the dwarf stroked his red beard at this.

"Indeed?" Dorn waited for him to continue.

"Last I heard, the people of the town are possessed, worshipping the demons that invaded through, you won't believe this, the church of Bahumet."

"Blasphemers!" Dorn swore under his breath, "Ah, anything else you can tell me, bard?"

"Naught else," the bard replied, "Now, I must sing my tales. You said you were an apprentice of Dragor's? Well, then for your benefit I'll sing a tale of his kindness. You know, once he was threatened by a young, ugly rabscallion and turned the young silly lad's life around at the chapel?"

Dorn smiled with nostalgia, remembering that fateful day, "I know that tale, very well."

Drizz't led a small group of lovely ladies toward the room he rented for the night. He saw Dorn and Gina entering their own room out of the corner of his eye, and grinned.

"Gray bastard's finally gonna get some," Drizz't laughed.

"Huh?" one of the ladies asked, confused.

"Ah, nothing. Who wants to go first?" he now was in the room, grinning.

Dorn and Gina both were in an extremely pleasant mood the next day. Drizz't was annoyed to find that they often stared into one another's eyes gleefully, to the point that he had to urge them onward. Drizz't had to be the responsible one!

"C'mon guys," Drizz't moved forward, coming over a short hill to find the town. He saw the gate, at least, but there seemed to be a shadow cast over it. Drizz't was unaffected, for whatever reason, but Dorn and Gina shivered as shadows caused a certain pain. A pain in their very souls.

"M-maybe we should leave," Gina said softly, "Get...get help."

Dorn's eyes flared with pride, "No, we must investigate further, find out the town's defences."

"I'm with Dorn here," Drizz't said calmly, "Why are you scared, Gina?"

"That place seems...it feels evil," Gina frowned.

"Indeed, but we must be strong, Gina," Dorn told her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"...Fine, but let's be careful. Dorn, this may be somewhat out of your element, but stealth is the goal here," Gina told him.

"Hmm, I think I might be able to find a discreet way in," Drizz't seemed to all but blend in with the world around him as he stepped toward the wall. Drizz't hesitated, before jumping up onto the side of the wall. He scrambled upward, finding handholds in the subtle imperfections of the wall. Soon he was atop the stone wall, and pulled a rope out of the bag at his waist. He dexterously tied the rope to one of the square shapes out of the wall. He gestured for Dorn and Gina to climb up the rope as he lowered the bottom of it to the ground.

"Gotta admit, he's good at what he does," Gina said appreciatively before climbing up the rope with catlike grace.

"He's a damn ass, but I'm inclined to agree," Dorn replied, following her.

"Okay, now, from what I see here, the town is in a state of perpetual night. Over there," he pointed into the distance, in the shadows where neither Dorn nor Gina could see, "I see some large demon of some sort. It's made of fire."

"Wonderful," Gina shook her head.

"This demon can't have been here long, maybe there's something binding it to this world? If we remove the conduit of its power," Dorn grinned, "the thing will return to its hellish plane of existence."

"It could work. Let's take to the streets, any idea where it could be, the conduit?"

Dorn considered for a moment, "Perhaps the local church."

They carefully climbed down the wall, stepping carefully and quietly. Dorn moved in such a way that his scalemail armor made only the slightest noise, going slightly slower than his more agile allies. Drizz't scouted slightly ahead, occasionally silencing lesser demons as they stepped through the streets, searching for spies like themselves. Dorn saw a larger demon with wickedly curved claws round a corner, and a moment later saw it fall with an arrow stuck in its head, brain matter spread across the wall behind it. Drizz't eventually saw the mark of Bahumet on a building, coated in blood to obscure it. Another symbol, one painted in blood, desecrated the church wall. Even Drizz't winced at this, he didn't like religion in the first place but this was simply sickening.

"Dorn, Gina, found it," he called softly, and motioned for them to follow.

Dorn and Gina approached, and the half-orc slowly opened the church doors.

"I'll investigate, you two wait out here and be ready to back me up," Dorn spoke.

They nodded to him, ready for anything. Dorn smiled, and stepped within the church. He walked forward, wincing at the desecration. As he walked, he suddenly heard the door slam shut behind him. He turned, to see a drow with a scimitar facing him, grinning.

"I've been expecting you, foolish paladin. It's time for you to know what hell is like, Dorn," the drow threatened, before muttering dark syllables.

Demons appeared around Dorn, nine of them, three larger than the others. Dorn drew his spear, adrenaline pumping through his body.

"How do you know my name?" Dorn asked, holding his spear out defensively.

"Simple, I peel back the lairs of your mind, and take a look within," the drow responded, grinning maliciously, "Ah, the 'son' of Dragor. You'll pay for his transgressions against us as well."

"I will fight to the last, cultist," Dorn roared, "I FIGHT IN BAHUMET'S NAME!"

With that, he charged at a demon that stood between him and the drow. A quick swing of his spear caught it by surprise and slashed into its skull before he pulled it away. Another demon stabbed its fell claws into Dorn's back, but he kicked backward before stabbing his spear into its chest, the tip sparkling with holy energy and combusting within its body. A demon dropped from above but Dorn swung his fist and caught it by the throat before shoving his spear tip into its skull, which then fell upon the cranium of another demon. A quick kick and deadly thrust wounded a larger demon, which reacted by biting down on Dorn's shoulder. The teeth barely scratched his skin, and Dorn quickly dropped his weapon and snapped the beast's neck.

Dorn picked up his spear just in time to stab a demon in the mid-section, before twisting the spear in the wound and pulling back, causing organs to spill upon the ground. Dorn crouched and swung his spear upward at the drow. The drow deflected the spear, and ducked under the fist that followed. He stabbed Dorn in the stomach, and bashed him down. The remaining demons swarmed around Dorn.

So this is how it ends, Dorn thought bitterly.

Suddenly, Dorn heard a slamming on the door, and suddenly it opened. Several arrows flew in quick sequence from Drizz't's bow. The demons and cultist all fell, dead or dying. Dorn smiled weakly as he approached with a potion.

"You okay, Dorn?" Gina asked, following.

Dorn drank the healing fluid, "That was a close one."

Before they could continue, they heard a maniacal laughter from behind Drizz't. They saw the drow cultist get back up.

"Hahahaha! I do not die so easily, fools!" the cultist laughed as blood fell from his mouth and the hole in his throat, "COME! MY DEMONIC SERVANT!"

They heard a crashing noise, and the cultist disappeared in the shadows. The fiery demon they saw earlier approached, roaring.

"I think it may be time to run," Dorn spoke.

His allies were already doing so, and he followed as they ran into the church, down into the catacombs.

Dorn and his compatriots raced through the once sacred burial grounds. Dorn wore his spear on his back, ready to draw at any time. Drizz't kept a hand on his longsword and Gina had her fingers on a throwing knife. The place smelled of decay far worse than usual, it was as if the place itself had become evil.

And perhaps it has, thought Dorn, as he looked upon his allies' faces.

Gina seemed frightened out of her wits, and Dorn worried about what decisions she might make in her great fear. Dorn honestly didn't blame her, this place really seemed to be hell on earth. Even Drizz't's fear showed on his face, his brow creased and his jaw set in grim determination. Dorn knew he would keep his head, but it wouldn't be easy.

"No use for the damn gods, always warring over our land, expecting us to die in their name!" Drizz't spat, an action that would have prompted Dorn to violence had the church not already been desecrated.

"Bahumet will guide us from this dark place, you will see, Drizz't," Dorn attempted to comfort him.

"Bahumet can go set himself ablaze with those holy fires he breathes for all I care," Drizz't blasphemed angrily.

"Drizz't, do not speak so about my god, alright?" Dorn told him, now angry himself, "In any case, we may want to ere on the side of caution and silence in here."

"Why, everything here's dead anyways," Drizz't replied, sneering.

"That's truer than you know, my failed brethren," they turned, seeing the drow cultist again, now fully healed.

"Be ready to die!" Dorn charged, but was knocked aside by a magical blast of energy from the cultist.

"Ready to listen now? Look, I see potential in you all, and so, I propose a test," the cultist's eyes gleamed, "My monstrosity can change shape, and so will chase you at human size through these catacombs. There are dangers within, but there is an exit at the far side, a whole we blasted in the wall when we first broke in. Through magic we extended the small hall of graves, to guard the entrance from those who would use it against US."

The cultist paused, "I have been gifted with visions of the future by Orcus, mighty be his name. I know what will befall you..." his eyes went from Gina, to Drizz't, before pausing on Dorn, as he stood, with excitement, "Dorn, there will come a day when your faith is shaken, and you must make a decision. I know what you will choose, and so..." he grinned, "I bid you good day. I hope you survive. There are dangers that could very well kill you, the future is not set in stone," the drow shrugged, before disappearing in the shadows.

Drizz't was the first to speak, "Like I said, who needs gods."

Dorn frowned, "We...we should go. That demon seemed powerful. If it catches us, we're dead."

"Are you sure? We could fight it, gauge its strengths?" Drizz't suggested.

Gina frowned, "I'm pretty sure if Dorn's thinking about safety, he must have a damn good reason."

Drizz't chuckled, "Good point. What is it, Dorn?"

"Well, as a Paladin, I can sense evil. I felt such an overwhelming force of it when it drew near. It was a power I'd never felt before, just feeling it hurt me, made me feel sick and weak. I've recovered at this point, but if we face the thing I'm very sure none of us will ever see our homes again," Dorn admitted this as if with shame.

Just then, they heard footsteps, heavy footsteps echoing through the halls. They all turned to see the fiery demon approaching, now appearing as a bald naked man made of fire, with eyes that were filled with fury. Dorn grunted in pain, holding his head.

"By...Bahumet...it hurts..." Dorn grunted, holding his head in his hands.

"Come on, we have to move!" Drizz't grabbed him and Gina, pulling them away and prompting them to begin running on their own.

They rushed down the halls, and Dorn seemed to recover as they put distance between them and the demon. He could feel it running after them, however. He could feel it approaching, and he knew if they slowed at all it would catch them. At that point, killing Dorn would be a mercy from the demon.

"Bwahhhh" they turned the corner to see a walking corpse, which swung its arm around at Drizz't.

"Go back to the grave," Drizz't sliced the corpse in half, before rushing forward to clear the path for his more slow allies.

Drizz't was a whirling death, driven by fear, rage, and concern for his companions. He kicked a zombie before thrusting his blade into its cranium, before swinging around and cutting another width-wise, removing its forearms and lower body. Drizz't uppercutted another and backflipped to drive his blade down into the zombie of an old woman. Drizz't was knocked into a wall by one of the undead beasts, but managed to kick it back and cut it diagonally, ending its unlife. By the time Dorn and Gina caught up, the room was filled with green and black blood and the now fully dead bodies of the zombies.

"Well done," Dorn commented weakly as they ran on, not breaking their stride. Drizz't quickly ran a few feet ahead.

"WAIT!" Gina shrieked, causing her allies to stop a moment later.

She approached a part of the floor and frantically tried to disable the trap. She stepped on that part of the floor and quickly shrank back, the floor breaking away to reveal a pit of spikes.

"Come on!" Drizz't leaped across it expertly, as did Gina.

Dorn hesitated, but feeling a far greater danger quickly approaching behind them, he took a few steps back, and ran toward the pit, leaping at the last second and slamming against the wall on the other side, gripping the edge of the floor. Drizz't and Gina pulled him up, and they ran onward. They ran only a short distance more, before they saw the break in the wall in a small chamber at the end. As Dorn stepped into the room, he felt a sudden change. The evil of the demon a short distance behind him suddenly vanished. Dorn stood, realizing he was in utter darkness. He tried to comprehend what had just happened, but suddenly a new feeling replaced the last.

"AHHH!" Dorn shrieked as a massive amount of evil appeared before him. Stars flew around in his vision and his head felt as if it were being smashed and pulled apart. His nose began to bleed and he vomited on the ground, blood splashing amongst the other fluids on the ground. His muscles felt like they were splitting, and he felt his heart pound in utter distress.

"GODS MAKE IT STOP! BAHUMET, HELP ME, PLEASE! MAKE IT STOP!...Make...it...stop..." Dorn sobbed on the ground, another bright flash coating his vision as the evil washed over him once more, "Gods please...make it stop..."

"Pathetic, absolutely pathetic," Dorn felt a metal boot kick him in the ribs, and he coughed up blood.

Dorn couldn't respond to the voice, and so it kicked him once more, prompting another cough. The evil aura it radiated diminished, causing Dorn to be able to look up weakly.

The saw a muscular figure in dark armor, the shoulder and kneepads fashioned to look like skulls. His breastplate bore the mark of Orcus, with the mark of Bahumet crossed out in blood. He had a smile with a certain foolhardy daring to it, an enjoyment of danger and combat and thrills. His blue eyes gleamed with courage, and although they once would have gleamed with kindness but now only did so with malicious intent. He had a face that, depending on one's views was either somewhat handsome or completely ugly. Once you got past the gray skin and large lower teeth, he was quite handsome, with his strong jawbone and calm, confident air. His black, somewhat spiky hair was cut somewhat short, with spiky sideburns going down to the bottoms of his ears.

"Like what you see, pathetic paladin?" the blackguard gave him another kick, "Gods your weak now. That will change, in time. Can't wait..."

The blackguard winked, before disappearing. Dorn shivered in terror.

"That...that was me..." were Dorn's last thoughts before darkness overwhelmed him.

Dorn felt as if he was in darkness, a prisoner being dragged away by some fell warden. He felt nothing within, however, no emotions influenced him. He was too tired to feel. He felt as if his soul had been cleaved in twain and hastily sewn back together. He heard noises, voices speaking.

"He seems haunted, what the hell happened to him?" a feminine voice spoke.

"I saw the shadows around us all converge on him, before he fell to the ground screaming. He isn't physically hurt beyond scratches and the like, but..." a masculine voice was speaking now, "Perhaps some spirit in the place hurt his mind, his soul?"

"Perhaps. Well, I hope he'll be alright," the female voice replied, and Dorn felt something soft on his lips, something comforting and pleasant.

"He'll be fine, Dorn's a tough fellow," Dorn finally recognized the voices as Drizz't spoke.

"Indeed he is," Gina spoke, "Hey, I think I saw him stir in his sleep!"

"Uhhhh," Dorn groaned as he fully regained consciousness.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Dorn," Drizz't smiled, "You alright?"

"I...I think so," Dorn rose carefully. He almost fell over, but Gina helped to support him.

"Thanks," Dorn smiled at her weakly.

"C'mon, we need to put distance between us and that town," Drizz't suggested, before stepping away.

"Yeah, besides, I'm pretty sure now they'd be willing to make you a full paladin," Gina grinned, "I imagine you'll want to have that as soon as possible."

Dorn smiled at the thought of finally being a true paladin, "A defender of justice...yes, let's go. I will make Dragor proud."

"He will always struggle with his inner evils, he's tainted with the blood of orcs. Few creatures have evil in their blood, orcs are unfortunate to be amongst that group," said one priest sadly, frowning.

"That is why I say we should not grant him full paladin status! It would be foolish, idiotic! He is evil, it is the core of his being," another priest, an elf who was old enough to even be reaching the end of his long life, spoke passionately.

"I'll ask you to remember your company, and, besides, Dragor knows him best. What do you think, friend?" a priest with oddly green-tinged skin spoke, gesturing to a man who sat at the table with them, the only one amongst them wearing armor and carrying a weapon.

Dragor paused for a moment to think over the issue, "Dorn will forever struggle with his evils within, but that is not the core of his being. If I were forced to define Dorn by any one word..." Dragor hesitated only a moment, before speaking with certainty, "Honor. Dorn lives by his codes. I remember it well, he's said it plenty of times. 'If that death shall make a difference, I shall gladly die.' Dorn is brave, and he would never shrink away from martyrdom if he could truly make a difference with his death. Out of all the other squires that have been trained this year across our world, he is the mightiest, the bravest, and most capable. I say this not out of pride as a father, but out of duty, he deserves full paladin status."

The other priests, save for the old elf, murmured agreement.

"Your a damn fool, Dragor," the elf commented.

"Well, if this business is concluded," Dragor rose to leave, "I must return to my duties, battling the evils of the world."

"Very well, Dragor," the green skinned priest said politely, "We shall listen to your recommendations."

Dragor nodded, before turning and walking out the door. He left the chapel swiftly, walking out into the rain filled streets. He didn't feel the water dropping on his flesh, he felt something else in far greater force. The greatest thing he felt was pride.

"Well, looks like you have your weapon, old friend," Dragor spoke out loud, looking into the sky, "But do not break your weapon, I demand that of you. He has evil in him, but he will fight against it. I believe that with your help, he could be the one of the best of us."

Dragor listened to a voice only he heard, then grinned, "I'll hold you to that promise, Bahumet. If Dorn ever falls off his path, remember, all he needs is his honor."

Dragor stepped onward toward the stable, where his horse was waiting, "If he ever loses that, then he will finally fall."


End file.
